


Domeric x Sansa Collection

by Spectre4hire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, The North Remembers (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectre4hire/pseuds/Spectre4hire
Summary: This will be a collection of one shots, scenes, story ideas, drabbles, etc all focused on Domeric x Sansa.The tags are for the latest chapter.After the Purple Wedding, Sansa arrives to the Vale to discover an unlikely suitor for her-Ser Domeric Bolton.The North does remember the promise it made to the Starks.Petyr reveals his intentions of using the Vale to help return Sansa to Winterfell. A chance for him to help the girl he sees as the daughter he should have had with Cat.Baelish’s feelings for Sansa are purely paternal. He sees her as the daughter he was going to have with Cat. That’s it. No creepy Petyr lusting towards Sansa in this. So basically OOC.





	1. Summaries.

This will be where the summaries of each chapter and the characters involved will be listed. 

* * *

  **Chapter 2:** Reflections

 

Jon brings word of his new alliance with the Dragon Queen causing Sansa and her husband to reflect on the North, the Iron Throne and the complications of hate and family.

 

 **AU Universe:** This is mainly show universe with the addition of Domeric. In terms of where it would take place sometime between seasons 7 and 8. Jon, Dany, and her armies haven't arrived to Winterfell, but they're coming.

  

**Background/Mentioned/Referred Pairings:** Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen

 

**Characters:** Domeric Bolton, Sansa Stark, Maester Wolkan.

 

**Characters Mentioned/referred** : Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton.

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 3:** Red Winter

 

Balon Greyjoy rules the Riverlands, Iron Islands, and parts of the North under an iron grip. The King of Winter, Robb Stark believes its time to overthrow the Greyjoys, but knows he needs all the north to do it. With that in mind, he sends a raven to the Dreadfort, home of the Red Kings, seeking an alliance.

 

**AU Universe:** Very AU **:** The Targaryens never existed, The Seven Kingdoms are not united. The Starks never fully conquered/united the north. The Boltons still rule as Red Kings. Jon Snow is a Stark. He and Robb are twins. 

 

**Background/Mentioned/Referred Pairings** : Jon Snow/Val, Bran Stark/Meera Reed, Eddard Stark/Catelyn Stark, Cersei Lannister/Rodrik Greyjoy

 

**Characters:** Sansa Stark, Robb Stark, Jon Snow (Stark), Bran Stark, Arya Stark, Rickon Stark, Catelyn Stark, Brynden Tully. 

 

**Characters Mentioned/referred** : Domeric Bolton, Val, Meera Reed (Stark), Balon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy, Euron Greyjoy, Roose Bolton, Hoster Tully, Tywin Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Rodrik Greyjoy, Maron Greyjoy, Lysa Tully, Edmure Tully, Brandon Stark, Rickard Stark.

 

* * *

 

  **Chapter 4:** Coming Home

 

 

An invitation from Winterfell leaves Sansa thinking about the life she once dreamed of and the life she got. She realized what she ended up getting was better than any dream she could’ve conjured as a girl.

Or the one in which the stories got it wrong. The flayed man was the hero, and the prince was the monster.

 

  **AU Universe:** Jon Arryn died naturally. Jaime Lannister died in the Greyjoy Rebellion. Myrcella and Tommen are Robert's. Bran never fell. Ned served as Hand for two years until he went back north to deal with the Wildlings and Mance Rayder. There is no War of the Five Kings. 

 

**Background/Mentioned/Referred Pairings** : Robb Stark/Myrcella Baratheon, Eddard Stark/Catelyn Stark, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Bran Stark/Meera Reed, Arya Stark/Edric Dayne, Rickon Stark/Shireen Baratheon

 

**Characters:** Sansa Stark, Domeric Bolton, Lady.

 

**Characters Mentioned/referred** : Robb Stark, Ned Stark, Catelyn Stark, Arya Stark, Robert Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon, Tommen Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon, Barbrey Dustin, Jon Snow, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Roose Bolton.

 

* * *

 

  **Chapter 5:** Blood and Stone

 

 After the Purple Wedding, Sansa arrives to the Vale to discover an unlikely suitor for her-Ser Domeric Bolton.The North does remember the promise it made to the Starks.

Petyr reveals his intentions of using the Vale to help return Sansa to Winterfell. A chance for him to help the girl he sees as the daughter he should have had with Cat.

Baelish’s feelings for Sansa are purely paternal. He sees her as the daughter he was going to have with Cat. That’s it. No creepy Petyr lusting towards Sansa in this. 

 

**AU Universe:** Mostly book with a dash of TV: Petyr Baelish only sees Sansa as his daughter. So basically OOC. Petyr still betroths her to a Bolton, but this time its Ser Domeric Bolton. 

 

**Background/Mentioned/Referred Pairings** : Petyr Baelish/Lysa Tully, Mychel Redfort/Mya Stone

 

**Characters:** Sansa Stark, Domeric Bolton, Petyr Baelish, Alayne Stone

 

**Characters Mentioned/referred** : Roose Bolton, Ramsay Bolton, Marillion, Lysa Tully, Mychel Redfort, Mya Stone, Barbrey Dustin, Rickard Ryswell, Lord Manderly.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my attempt at writing some more content for Domeric and Sansa without it being story sized. I haven't really tried writing in this sort of format before. So I consider this a fun little challenge. 
> 
> If you have suggestions/ideas/prompts leave them in the comments, and if they catch the muse's interest, I'll see about writing them. 
> 
> Thanks for giving this new experiment a chance.
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	2. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon brings word of his new alliance with the Dragon Queen causing Sansa and her husband to reflect on the North, the Iron Throne and the complications of hate and family.

She felt Maester Wolkan’s eyes on her as she scanned the recently arrived letter from Dragonstone. She made no reaction as she let the words sink in from her brother, Jon.

 _This was what they wanted, what he wanted,_ she corrected, when he set out on this mission. When he left her in charge of Winterfell, of helping to run the north after their victory. In the months of his absence the north’s resentment for the south had not changed.

“You may leave us, Maester,” Her husband’s voice pulled her from the letter to see his dark eyes watching her with concern.

Neither payed Wolkan any heed as he bowed his head, leaving the Lady of Winterfell and her husband, the Lord of the Dreadfort behind.

Domeric had been sitting by the windowsill. His harp resting beside him. “What is it?”

“Jon’s bent the knee to the Dragon Queen.”

“You are not happy.”

“I am not,” she felt the frustration bubbling up. “We just won Winterfell back,” she stopped herself, wondering how her husband would react to the reminder of the battle which they fought against his own blood.

His face betrayed nothing for his fallen family. “Aye, we did.”

“Now, he’s given us back to the _south_ ,” She spat out the last word. She heard her husband’s footsteps, and within a few heartbeats felt his hands take hers, causing her to look up at him.

Despite everything they had been through this past year, their marriage still felt surreal to her at times. They had met in the Vale, he was fostering with Lord Redfort, and she was pretending to be Littlefinger’s bastard daughter, Alayne. He was a Bolton. His father who had betrayed her brother, her family. Yet he fought for her. He ousted his bastard brother and returned Winterfell to the Starks. He chose her over his family.

“What is troubling you?” He asked softly.

“The Iron Throne has taken everything from me,” she confessed in a hushed voice. “My grandfather, my uncle, my father, my mother, my brother, home.” She blinked away tears, reflecting on everything and everyone that had been taken from her. Looking around at her chambers, she was able to remind herself that they had taken Winterfell back.

It had been the only thing she’d gotten back.

“How could Jon give the north back?” She asked angrily. “Robb fought for the north to be free. He died for it!”

The south to her symbolized the old her, the stupid little girl. It forced her to confront what she use to be. She hated to remember how she use to dream of the south, and yearned to leave her home and family for the capital. And those dreams turned to ash when her prince killed her father and had his knights beat her for all the court to see. Chivalry had been silent to her cries and prayers.

_The songs had been lies._

“He is our king,” Domeric reminded her. “We must trust him.”

His calm tone frustrated her. “Even about the White Walkers?” She threw back at him.

The myth, the threat that her brother was convinced was beyond the Wall and making its way to them, bringing with it death and a never ending Winter. A story that had led to some laughs and dismissal from some of their bannermen. The wildlings who Jon had brought with him, echoed her brother’s stories, but even their accounts did not convince some of northern lords that the old stories were actually true.

Domeric mulled her words quietly before replying. “You know your brother better than me. Is Jon someone who’d lie?”

“No,” She knew Jon well enough to know how much he valued honor and honesty, and the other lessons Father had taught them growing up.

“Then if he believes this alliance with the Targaryen Queen is necessary then we must be,” Domeric paused, “amenable to his concerns.”

“And how would you have us handle her?” Sansa asked. “Her father killed my grandfather and uncle.”

“And what of the sins of my family?” He asked mildly. “Do you hold me accountable for what my father and brother did?”

“No,” she answered at once, just the thought of him thinking that of her caused her heart to suddenly ache. “Never!”

There was a time when she wanted to despise him because of his name, because of what his family had done to hers. It was easier to just hate.

“I know,” he squeezed her hands, reassuring her that he did not doubt her. He then led her to the windows where they could look out at the snowy grounds of Winterfell.

“We will show this Dragon Queen the North and give her no reason to doubt us.”

“Be graceful and charming,” The lessons she learned from the capital coming back to her. To disarm them with shy smiles. To shield her intentions beneath courtesies. To have them trust you with sweet words. To get them to underestimate you with polite etiquette.

He put his arm around her, “Exactly, let us get the measure of this Queen and then decide if she deserves our loyalty.” His mouth was at her ear. “We will do what we must.” His voice sent a shiver through her. “To protect what is ours.”

They stayed their silently watching as light snow began to fall. Here she was in Winterfell, her home with her husband, a Bolton. A blissful feeling of happiness washing over her. The Old Gods worked in mysterious ways to answer her prayers.

Thinking of this life they’d built together, that they’d fought for this past year. She would not let anyone take this away from her. It did not matter if they be lions to the south, dragons from the east or these White Walkers from the north.

Sansa would not lose her family again.


	3. Red Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balon Greyjoy rules the Riverlands, Iron Islands, and parts of the North under an iron grip. King of Winter, Robb Stark believes its time to overthrow the Greyjoys, but knows he needs all the north to do it. With that in mind, he sends a raven to the Dreadfort, home of the Red Kings, seeking an alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some important things before we jump in:  
> -The Targaryens do not exist.  
> -The Starks never fully conquered the north. The Boltons still reign as Red Kings.  
> -House Greyjoy rule over the Iron Islands, the Riverlands, and parts of the north. 
> 
> Also I should warn you this is messy, and not very well written. So I apologize for the mistakes now.

“What is happening?” Princess Sansa Stark walked in to see her older brothers arguing. 

“Robb wants to call the banners,” Bran stood off to the side. His arms were crossed, the _Prince of the Marshes_ looked more amused than annoyed at his siblings antics. 

“The banners?” Sansa didn’t believe it. “Have we been attacked?” 

_The Boltons had been unusually quiet since their new King ascended to the Red Throne._

“No,” That was Arya. She rolled her eyes when their eyes met at their brothers' antics. 

Sansa smiled, moving to stand beside her sister. “Then what is going on?”

“Robb is being a fool!” Jon turned to her for the first time, before glaring at his older twin. He and Arya were the only ones who took after their father in appearance: brown hair, grey eyes, the long face of a Stark. 

“Jon,” Mother was sitting in an armchair. She looked up from her needlework at her eldest sons bickering. 

“Our king,” Jon corrected sarcastically, and then turned back to see if Mother was satisfied. 

She gave him a nod, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face. 

“You saw the unrest at Torrhen’s Square,” Robb argued. “The people are against the Greyjoys.”

_Torrhen’s Square was the seat of The Ironborn Prince, Theon Greyjoy._

Her brothers had just returned from there. Having to pay their tribute to the King of the Isles, Rivers, and North. 

The latter was a sore point for the family. They were the Kings of Winter, but found themselves in a land divided into three kingdoms: The Greyjoys who ruled from Torrhen’s Square and everything southwest of it including the Barrowlands, Barrowton, the Rills, and Stony Shore. 

Then there was their bitter rivals the Red Kings. The Boltons of the Dreadfort who ruled everything east of White Harbor with their lands stretching all the way to just south of Last Hearth.

Jon sighed. “The people are always against the Greyjoys.”

Robb wore the iron crown of their ancestors atop his curly auburn hair. He may have had Mother’s coloring, but in that moment, he looked just like father. 

“We tried already, Your Grace,” Ser Brynden Tully wore a grim look on his face at the reminder of the failed rebellion.

 _The Riverrun Rebellion,_ She remembered it from Maester Luwin’s lessons. An alliance of Stark and Tully against the recently crowned Greyjoys. Her family had thought to win their freedom after a brief, but bloody civil war following House Hoare dying out. They had been the previous Kings of the Isles, Rivers, and North.  

It did not succeed. Despite initial victories from her father, the newly crowned Winter King. King Balon made an alliance with the King of the Rock and saw his son and heir, Rodrik Greyjoy married to King Tywin’s only daughter, Cersei. The might of the Rock, Rivers, and Isles were too much for their family to overcome. 

House Tully lost Riverrun, which was given to Balon’s second son, Prince Maron. Aunt Lysa, and Sansa’s Uncles Edmure and Brynden were forced to flee to the north. Her grandfather Hoster stayed and accepted his fate, and was killed for his treason. He joined her other Grandfather Rickard Stark, and her uncle, Brandon who had perished at Harrenhal, killed by Balon’s younger brother, Prince Euron. 

“We were fractured last time,” Robb drew their attention to the map. "This time we can look for new alliances that will tip the scales.”

“What sort of alliances?” Jon asked suspiciously.

"We already have some thanks to you brother," Robb reminded him.

It was true. Jon had married a  _wildling princess_ as part of an agreement between the Starks, the Night's Watch, and the wildings. _Val,_ his wildling wife came with more than a thousand swords, and more than twice that in families who settled the land's south of Brandon's Gift which fell under Jon's rule. Her brother was the Prince of the Wolfswood, ruling from the borders of Brandon’s Gift to Last Hearth. 

His wife was now a true northern princess and was heavy with their first child. She had come to Winterfell with Jon since the two were inseparable, and would stay until their baby was born and it was safe for them to return to their home. They had made their seat on the northern tip of the Wolfswood. 

"The wildlings are not enough," Jon rubbed at his eyes, "They're unruly and even with Val, do not trust easily." 

Sansa could see her brother's frustration. She knew how much he tried to emulate their father when it came to leading their people and ruling over their lands. To him, he felt as if he was failing, not just as a lord, but as a brother since he still struggled with bringing all of the wildlings to heel.

Robb seemed to sense that, "There's not a better man to lead them, brother." He smiled when Jon looked to meet him, "The wildlings will realize their folly soon enough. And come to appreciate at having you as their Prince."

"Thank you," Jon said with a tight nod, but his grey eyes shone with sincerity for his brother's support. 

Robb looked pleased, but his face shifted into what Bran called _his king's face,_ when he turned his attention back to the northern map. "Not all of us were united the last time we fought the Greyjoys." 

“You can’t be serious, Robb!” Arya protested.

Robb met her stare without blinking. “I am.” He tapped the spot on the map with the black blot, beside it read- _The Dreadfort._

“The Red Kings,” Jon murmured it as a curse. 

A chilly silence fell over them at their mention. When her family went to war, the Red King did not join them. Instead, he sacked White Harbor since their forces were in the Riverlands. He then held it for two years before an agreement was made between her father and King Roose Bolton. The Starks reclaimed the important city, but White Harbor and House Manderly had to pay tribute to the Red Kings of the Dreadfort each year for the next thirty years.

“We need their numbers,” Robb countered, “With them at our sides we could push the Grejoys out from the north.”

“Why would they help us?” Rickon scowled. He was ten and six, and had already earned a reputation, known as _Rickon the Rowdy._ Her youngest brother had yet to be given his own lands, but she knew Robb was looking as well as trying to find a bride for the northern prince. 

Robb didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled out a letter and a chorus of voices rose up when they all saw the infamous flayed man seal. 

Sansa stayed quiet, watching her siblings talk and argue over one another. She looked to see Mother had put down her needlework, but remained sitting. Uncle Brynden did not speak, but his eyes were telling, and she knew he wanted vengeance for his brother. 

“You wrote to the Dreadfort?” Jon gaped, “Without telling us.”

“I am your king,” Robb reminded them sternly. “I do not answer to you.”

Jon’s mouth pursed. “You are my king,” he admitted, “But you are my brother, and that means more to me.” 

Robb’s face softened. He clapped his twin on the shoulder, “I am thankful for that.” He then looked out at his siblings, “We are being bled dry by the Greyjoys. They take our coin and men, and soon they’ll decide that’s not good enough and start to take our lands too. By then we won't have the strength to fight them.” 

“Theon Greyjoy is a prick,” Robb said bluntly, “He’s vain and is desperate to get out of his father's shadow." He then looked over to where Rickon was standing. "Rickon?"

Their youngest brother stepped forward. "There’s gossip that the prince is planning his own campaign.  _Greyjoy,"_ Rickon's mouth twisted, "wants to earn his own glory. He wants to prove himself a true _Prince of the Ironborn_."

“Where would he attack?” Bran demanded, not hiding his concern about this threat. His lands bordered much of the Greyjoys, and his wife, the Princess Meera was at Moat Cailin currently. 

“I do not know,” Robb said, a look of pain coming over him at the admission. “Some say the Wolfswood.”

“He’d pay for that,” Jon growled.  

“Aye,” Robb agreed, “That is why we cannot wait to see where he’ll strike, but he will strike.”

“There was a flurry of activity at Torrhen’s Square,” Rickon added, “Heard they were expecting more ships to come up Saltspear.” 

“So we strike first,” Arya’s grim smile revealing she was starting to like the idea. 

“Yes,” Robb’s eyes were back on the map, “Barrowton and the Rills have close ties to the Dreadfort. King Domeric would surely wish to defend his kin from the Ironborn.”

“So he’ll join us to help them?” Jon sounded surprised at getting their commitment so easily. 

“Not entirely,” Robb bowed his head.

“What does he want?” Arya asked

Robb sighed. He slowly turned to Sansa. “He wants a bride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this kernel of an idea came to me when I was watching 'Outlaw King.'
> 
> As you can see it clearly grew out of that and into a different direction. This is lazy worldbuilding. I'm okay with that. 
> 
> In this story The Ironborn are more fierce and take more after their viking inspiration in terms of their success and prowess.
> 
> I debated whether to post this under new story or the drabbles. I decided this, but maybe if there's interest, I can put it under new story. Regardless, I think I'll write another scene or two in this wild AU.


	4. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invitation from Winterfell leaves Sansa thinking about the life she once dreamed of and the life she got. She realized what she ended up getting was better than any dream she could’ve conjured as a girl. 
> 
> Or the one in which the stories got it wrong. The flayed man was the hero, and the prince was the monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in like one sitting, so excuse the poor and clumsy exposition just thrown in here and there as well as the poor attempt at fluff. So basically if you expect this to be bad, you shouldn't be disappointed.

When she was a girl, Sansa dreamed of the south. The dashing princes, the glittering armor, the handsome knights, and the charming minstrels. All the trappings and glories of the south that she heard so much about in the songs.

She could still remember her excitement when she was ten and three at how the King was visiting Winterfell. There were knights and minstrels, but most of all there had been princes, and to her heart’s excitement, she found herself later betrothed to the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. It was the happiest day in her life. 

_How could it not be?_

That night she had danced with her prince, the king, and more than a dozen knights of the south, all complimenting her on her beauty and her grace, and she took it all in. Believing their words, and their smiles, and thinking she was finally going to be happy. She was finally leaving the dreary north and she was going to where she belonged. She was going to the capital.

Looking back at that girl, Sansa wanted to shake her to loosen all those silly thoughts and dangerous dreams out of her empty head. 

_I saw the cracks in my crown prince as early as Winterfell but I ignored them. I desired the lie, and would soon discover the ugly truth._

In the next year while Father tried to rule the Seven Kingdoms as Lord Hand and undo some of the more costlier mistakes of Robert's reign. The cracks grew, disfiguring the dashing prince she wanted to see, and instead showed her the monster lurking beneath.

_Then I met him, and my life would never be the same._

Ser Domeric Bolton arrived to the capital to swear his oath of service to her father as the new Lord of the Dreadfort. His father and a small hunting retinue of Bolton men were ambushed and killed by wildlings. Or that's what his Aunt, Lady Dustin said, who had been visiting the Dreadfort at the time, but had not gone on the hunt. She would be the one who'd later find the slain Roose Bolton and his men.

It was not until later Sansa learned the truth of it as well as the importance of one of the victims who had died with Lord Bolton. She never shared it with her father, but it had made her respect and love Lady Dustin despite the Lady of Barrowton's coldness towards her.  

The new Lord of the Dreadfort ended up staying in the capital for some time as a guest of her father. In that time, she became friends with the quiet young northern lord, and was startled to find herself for the first time dreaming of the north that she had so willingly left behind.

_He was as courteous as the princes in her songs. He played the harp better than any minstrel, and he rode as gallantly as any knight._

“Sansa.” 

She turned, realizing her memories had pulled her away.  “I’m sorry."

Her husband did not seem to mind, given the indulgent smile he gave her. 

“It is quite alright,” He crouched down where she had been sitting by the fire. His hands resting atop hers. Her needlework had been abandoned in her distraction. The pink cloth and black stitching lying on her lap, unfinished. 

She welcomed the touch of his hands and especially the kiss he gave her. Unable to stop her spreading smile when he finally broke it. His eyes were glimmering in admiration for her, and it still made her stomach flutter. 

“We received a raven from Winterfell.”

“Oh?” She perked at once at that. “What is it?”

“Robb is getting married.”

“Truly?” She couldn’t keep the incredulousness out of her voice.

Her husband favored her with a small smile. “Aye, he’s marrying the Princess.”

 _Robb’s marrying Myrcella._ Sansa reflected on that, surprised at the announcement even though a betrothal between their families had been discussed for years. First, it was to be her and Joffrey to join the Great Houses of Stark and Baratheon together, but that thankfully fell apart because of the prince. 

Her growing friendship with Domeric had only darkened Joffrey's moods, and drink made it difficult for him to hide his rage behind his princely veneer. Until it boiled over one night at a feast where he insulted and threatened her in front of half of court. To this day, she wasn't sure who was more outraged her father or the Lord of the Dreadfort. That  night Father told her the betrothal was broken. At the news, she asked him if he'd consider making a match between her and Domeric. He smiled and consented, saying he'd discuss the matter with Lord Domeric. 

 _We were betrothed by morning._ She smiled at the memory. 

King Robert had still been insistent on a union between their houses so he proposed Tommen and Arya, but within a year, both families realized the folly of that match. 

 _A disaster from the beginning,_ she remembered. Arya was brought to court, and her poor sister hated every day of it. She was kind to Tommen, but Arya had no desires to be a polite, patient princess. 

T _ommen is a good man,_ she thought, _but Arya is Arya._ Sansa couldn’t find another word to help describe her sister. And thinking of her wild sister made her smile, as well as feel a small pang in her chest, since she hadn’t seen her in nearly two years. All her life Sansa wanted her and Arya’s paths to diverge. Wanting to be away from her sister, who preferred dirt and breeches to perfume and dresses. Who seemed to embarrass Sansa just by opening her mouth or coming inside covered in mud tracking it all over the corridors and her room. 

When their paths finally did, Sansa regretted the girl she was, and the desires she had to separate from her sister. A day did not go by where she didn’t miss Arya, and hope to see her come traipsing in. Her face covered in dirt, grinning, and talking quickly about some adventure she had gone on. 

_And now the King has his Stark and Baratheon union._

Her mind returning to the news: Robb and the princess had never been strongly considered. She was between Bran and Arya in age and Father had always been hesitant to have Robb marrying a southerner since he had married Mother. A choice he never regretted, but Father was wise to see the problems it could lead within the north if the Starks married too many southerners so close together. It appeared something had caused him to change his mind. 

"The King is returning to Winterfell," she found herself saying aloud.

"He is," Domeric confirmed, "With _the Crown Prince_ Tommen." 

 _Crown Prince Tommen,_ or she heard as he's called in the capital, _Tommen the True._

It was strange to consider the small, pudgy boy she remembered as the future king of the Seven Kingdoms. Then again he wasn't suppose to become the king. He was the second son, but found himself the heir after his brother's death. 

Joffrey was only to be remembered now as the prince who died falling down a flight of stairs. Maester Pycelle had decreed the boy was drunk and lost his balance. The knight responsible for him that night was Ser Meryn Trant and he was sent to the Wall for his negligence. 

 _I was in the Small Hall,_ she recalled when she got the news of Joffrey's death. _I was waiting for Domeric._

The Queen had gone mad with grief at the loss of her first born son. She was quick to throw out accusations and became sick with suspicion. It had gotten so bad that she was sent back to the Rock where she's stayed ever since under the care of her family. 

If there was a belief that it was not an accident, no one ever voiced it, and no arrests were ever made. It seemed everyone in the capital and the Seven Kingdoms had decided it was better to just move on. 

Her husband's voice brought her back to their solar in the Dreadfort. “Your entire family is coming for it.”

“Really?” She got out of her seat at that. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but her family had wandered to different corners of Westeros, and the thought of the pack all descending back to Winterfell made her deliriously happy. “We need to start packing.”

“I’ve already given the instructions.”

She kissed him for that. The happiness still strumming through her. 

His eyes had a slight daze when she broke it. “I was not expecting that,” he replied dryly. 

Sansa laughed, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Her thoughts drifted back to her family and Winterfell. She tried to remember how long it had been since she saw them all together in one place. 

 _Our wedding._ The answer came to her after a short pause. When she married Domeric and became the Lady of the Dreadfort. _Which was nearly four years ago._

 _Had it been that long?_ She had trouble believing it. They had visited Winterfell since and some of her family had come to the Dreadfort, but the more she thought it over, the more she realized it was true. 

Father had told them all growing up that they were wolves, and the pack was strongest when they were together. Words she never took seriously as a girl. She had never wanted to be a wolf, but a princess and than a queen. A dream that only brought her pain. 

She pushed away those bitter memories of her time in the capital. Not wanting to see those cruel smiles and mean eyes, flickering across her vision.

 _He cannot hurt you anymore._ That had been what Domeric told her the night Joffrey died when he came to get her in the Small Hall. _He is dead. Bury him. Forget him._

“Sansa?” Her husband’s hand was on her shoulders, sensing her distress. “Are you well?”

“I am fine,” She put one of her hands atop his. “When do you think we can leave?” 

He looked her over, not fooled by her change in topic, but he still answered her: “Tomorrow morning.”

“Perfect,” she smiled. 

“Mama!”

Her smile only grew at the voice that called her. She spun around to see her beautiful son staring at her with a wide smile and bright eyes. He was holding the hand of Mya, one of Sansa’s trusted ladies. 

She bent down as he padded over to her. She laughed when he jumped into her arms. She kissed his hair much to his joy. "We got a letter from Winterfell.” She told him. “You remember Winterfell?”

He reacted more to her tone than her words. His face brightened, but then scrunched in thought. She was tempted to kiss his furrowed brow, but before she could, his face relaxed and he answered her question with a howl. 

It had been such an impressive howl that Lady who had been sleeping by the hearth, stirred in her sleep. Raising her head, and taking them in with her golden gaze, before tilting her head, ears perked.

That was all Rodrik needed since he howled again, and giggled when Lady joined him. 

“That’s right, darling,” Taking in her wolf and son with a warmth filling her chest. “That’s where the wolves live.” 

He beamed, excited at being right. “We see grandpa?” 

“Yes, we will,” She kissed one of his cheeks. He squirmed, but she knew he loved it, judging by his continued giggling. 

“And grandma?” His eyes lit up at _Grandma_ , who had no qualms in spoiling her first and so far only grandchild.  _A fact she continues to lament to all her children._

She heard her husband chuckle from where he was standing, no doubt, thinking what she had just been thinking about her indulgent mother.

“Yes, Grandma too,” She answered, “And your uncles and aunt.” 

“Uncle Robby?” Rodrik only really knew Robb, since he was the only one of her siblings who lived in Winterfell.  _Uncle Robby_ was the only one who Rodrik properly remembered because he was a babe when the others had come to see and visit him. And since her family has spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms. 

After squiring for Ser Barristan, who knighted him, Bran was given Moat Cailin by Father who had already begun overseeing its rebuilding. Not a year into his lordship of Moat Cailin did her brother surprise everyone when he ran off. He returned after a moon's turn, but was now married to the older Meera Reed. Father had been upset by his son's hastiness and secrecy, but Lord Reed, who didn't seem as surprised as everyone else, gave the marriage his blessing. 

After the failed courtship with Tommen, Arya was invited to Dorne. To Sansa's delight, her sister found happiness and acceptance among a people who did not mind there women fighting, and none were more prouder of her skills than her future husband, Edric Dayne.

She had not gone to Dorne alone, Jon had accompanied her upon Father's request. Jon like his sister found a home in the hot deserts of Dorne, and a wife. He married one of Prince Oberyn's famous bastard daughters known as the Sand Snakes. He was knighted by the infamous Dornish prince and was given land of his own in Dorne. The King granted him rights to a name and house for him and his new wife.

Rickon had gone south two years ago to visit his brother when he was squiring for Ser Barristan, and never came back. Her youngest brother was trying to court Shireen Baratheon, the Princess of Dragonstone and the daughter of the Hand of the King, Stannis Baratheon. Rickon found himself a place at the capital by serving as Ser Davos Seaworth's squire, the Onion Knight, who was the commander of the City Watch. 

 _I dreamed of the south all my life, and yet I remain north when my brothers and sister found their homes in the south,_ she noted wryly. 

“All your uncles, Rod,” Domeric came to stand behind Sansa. _The reason why I chose the north and I've never looked back._

Their son was looking over her shoulder, holding up his hands eagerly at the sight of Papa being so close to him. 

“And I’m sure they’ll spoil ya more than grandma," her husband promised him. 

Their son made a gleeful noise at that.

Rodrik was named after Domeric’s grandfather who died a few years back. He was her greatest gift and treasure. Amazed and thankful at the blessing he was to her and Domeric. 

 _He was theirs,_ she thought proudly, _their love, their happiness._ Rodrik was the testament to all those wondrous feelings they shared, and for that he’d always have a special place in her heart. 

He had the Stark grey eyes, but they were paler like his father’s. He had Domeric’s dark and curly hair with her nose and chin and _her love for sweets,_ as Domeric would often tease. 

She passed their unruly son to her husband, who took him eagerly. Domeric spun him around before raising him up and carrying him away while their son babbled and talked excitedly about wolves, and woods, and snow.

Sansa watched it unfold with a growing smile.

 _These are my princes,_ she thought happily, her eyes moving to her husband. _The flayed man that saved me from the monster._

 


	5. Blood and Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Purple Wedding, Sansa arrives to the Vale to discover an unlikely suitor for her-Ser Domeric Bolton. 
> 
> The North does remember the promise it made to the Starks. 
> 
> Petyr reveals his intentions of using the Vale to help return Sansa to Winterfell. A chance for him to help the girl he sees as the daughter he should have had with Cat. 
> 
> Baelish’s feelings for Sansa are purely paternal. He sees her as the daughter he was going to have with Cat. That’s it. No creepy Petyr lusting towards Sansa in this. So basically OOC.

_You promised me home,_ _Petyr,_ she looked out at the lands of Lord Baelish, _but all I see is a speck._

This is not Winterfell. It was not her home, but his.

Small and bleak, a single flint tower, old and weathered on a scrap of land that Lord Baelish claimed only took half a day to walk it all. 

Home or not, she was relieved to be standing on dry land. _Steady ground._ The sea had made her sick. 

_Was it the waves that churned my stomach or Lord Baelish’s secrets and plots?_

_He isn’t Lord Baelish,_ she reminded herself, _he is Father._

She could not be Sansa Stark. He told her it was too dangerous. Sansa Stark was wanted for murdering King Joffrey along with her husband, Lord Tyrion Lannister, who had already been arrested and charged.

Sansa Stark watched Ser Dontos die…

 _No, Sansa, I am Alayne. I am a bastard, I’m like Jon._ She had not thought of her half brother often, but now he was the only brother she had left. _Robb, Bran, Rickon,_ she felt the tears on her cheeks, so she wiped them away. 

Alayne Stone cannot cry. Those names mean nothing to her. Her stomach clenched. 

The salty winds raked through her hair and touched her scrubbed cheeks like rough fingers. 

 _I’m Alayne Stone,_ she tried to tell herself, remembering the story he told her to use: _I was suppose to be a Septa, but I did not want to be one, so I wrote to Petyr. No, I wrote to my Father._

“Alayne?”

 _Speaking of,_ she thought, “Yes? 

“I called you twice before,” He told her, “Could you not hear me over the sheep bleating and gulls cawing?” He laughed, “Yes, these are my lands and people.” He fingered his beard, “But you must respond better, Alayne. I’m your father not a stranger.”

It was a game, but she was still learning the rules. “Yes, Father.” She thought she saw something in his eyes at the word, but he was quick to turn his face away as if sensing the betrayal. 

His fingers touched her hair that had been newly dyed. “A dull brown,” he tsked in disappointment, “a necessary precaution, but one to lament all the same.” The brush of her hair out of her face was almost paternal. 

“Tell me, who are you?”

“I’m Alayne Stone,” she tried very hard not to sound like she was reciting it. “Your natural daughter.”

“Good,” His voice conveyed no sincerity, “But you must do better. Your first test will be here by nightfall.” 

“My first test?” 

 He nodded, “Yes, walk with me,” he held out his arm, “But let’s be mindful of the shit.” 

 She smiled and took his arm, noticing his flicker of a smile. 

The path was rocky, so her grip on his arm was tighter than it should’ve been to try to keep her balance, but he never protested, and kept his footing. “I’ve walked these paths many times,” he told her, unbothered by the terrain. 

“Your Aunt Lysa is coming tonight.”

 _Was she the test?_ She had already been told that, and that Petyr was marrying her. _Father,_ she corrected, was this to see if her mother’s sister could recognize her niece? 

“She will be told of you soon enough,” He assured her, “She is not your test. It is those who come with her.” 

“Who’s coming with her?”

“I invited some others who may help your cause.”

When he said invited, she understood that it was through other means and people that could not be tied back to him. She remembered that when she saw Dontos be killed by those crossbow bolts or the other lessons he taught her while they sailed away from the capital. 

“Who are they?” She was not sure who’d help her cause more than her Aunt. She was the Regent of the Vale. 

“Knights,” he tapped her hand as if knowing that’d get her interest, “Lord Redfort’s youngest son, Ser Mycel,” he paused, his head turning in her direction, “And Lord Redfort’s ward, Ser Domeric Bolton.”

She stopped at once at the name. “Bolton,” She hissed. Her blood went cold. 

“Alayne,” he chided her, sounding as if he expected her slip. “That name should mean nothing to you.”

 _He was right,_ and she dipped her head at another mistake she had made. _I cannot play the part when its just me and him. How am I to play it amongst so many others?_

His finger gently touched her chin to get her to look at him. “You want to go home don’t you, dear?”

She saw something in his grey-green eyes, _Concern?_ “Yes.”

He nodded, “And he will help you.”

She still didn’t like it. His family had betrayed hers. It was said in the capital that it was Lord Bolton who killed her brother, Joffrey bragged of that, and the Boltons took Winterfell for themselves and ruled the north.  _They were rewarded for their ungodly butchery._

He sensed her hesitation. “He is not like his family,” he squeezed her arm, “I would not align myself with someone who did that to your mother,” He turned away, but Sansa saw the anger in his eyes before he did. 

“He is a Bolton,” she sounded silly pointing it out, but she still didn’t understand his plans.

They stopped. She recognized the place, as he had shown it to her already. The tide would come up jetting up out of a blowhole to shoot twenty, thirty feet in the air, she did not know. 

“He is, but when his father summoned him back after _the Twins_ , he refused.”

“I did not know.”

“Of course not, sweetling.” He smiled, “You’re still a piece, but do not worry, I shall make you a player.” He squeezed her arm. “Your mother’s beauty and my _charm,_ ” he laughed, “The daughter we did not have.” There was no mirth in his eyes or expression at those words, “Minisia,” he said it so softly she would not have heard, but the wind had died in those heartbeats, betraying him. 

“That was your grandmother’s name. Cat loved her dearly, and told me she wished to name a daughter after her.” His tone did not change, but the expression on his face and in his eyes did. 

She did not know what to say to that. She knew little of him or his childhood with her mother, but what he spoke of and her, she could tell that he truly cared for her. It was difficult for her to try to separate the man in front of her with the man she thought she knew from her time at the capital. 

The tide came rushing forward, shooting out a torrent of salt water up into the air, salt and mist sprayed them despite their distance, the wind had carried it. 

He stepped away from her and to try to wring out some of the creeping dampness in his clothes. “Ah, at least this was not my wedding tunic,” he japed, “Shall we head back?” His eyes betrayed nothing when they met hers, and at her nod, he offered her, his arm again which she took. 

“Ser Domeric has been writing letters.”

“To whom?”

“I do not know everything, sweetling,” he said in a tone that conveyed he likely did, “But I imagine he’s writing to northern houses like the Manderlys.”

“Why?”

“To save his _skin_ ,” Petyr chuckled, “He recognizes the blunder his family has made and is trying to rectify that before his family falls to ruins.” 

“That would be deserved.”

Petyr smiled. “I will not argue with that,” He brushed some of her wet brown hair that had fallen over her face. “However, he is not without strength. His Aunt is the Lady of Barrowton and his Grandfather is the Lord of the Rills, both will come to him against his father or bastard brother.”

Sansa did not know what to say to that, so she mulled it over in silence.

“I would not let a poor suitor near you,” he consoled her, “I’ve learned of him and he seems to be a good man despite his bad name. He plays the harp as well the minstrels in the capital, and has been knighted for gallantry, but more importantly he has no string of bastards or complaints against his name or character that one might expect from a man who wears a flayed man on their clothes.”

“And you trust this information?” 

“I do,” He confirmed without hesitation, “My information comes from nobility and servants, different gazes looking at the same thing, and they tell me the same thing. There seems to be no deception in him.”

“You’d have me marry him?” 

He stopped, and turned to face her. “I’d have you go home, sweetling.” He touched her cheek, a kind look in his eyes, “Is that not where you want to be? Winterfell.”

She nodded.

He smiled, “Then trust your Father, Alayne,” his hand slowly left her face.

“I do,” She found herself meaning it.

* * *

It was here when he told her when she was Alayne Stone-A bastard daughter of the Drearfort. 

Lord Baelish had explained it all to her, the plans he made and the plots in motion to get her back Winterfell. 

And here she was now, Sansa Stark.

 _They were ready._ Petyr's plans had bloomed beautifully, while he was at the Eyrie gathering allies and information, he had tasked her to stay at his family's home, out of sight, but not alone. Her husband was asked to stay to watch over her, but he wasn't her husband then. No, he was a stranger, and she thought an enemy.

 _How wrong I was,_ she reflected on him and the bond that grew between them in their weeks together. She saw the quality of him their first night when he saved her from being raped by the musician that her Aunt had brought with her. The sly minstrel had tried to get into her bed, only to find Domeric's fist and the tip of his sword at his throat.

She would never forget the cold look in his eyes at the bard, who was pathetically whimpering on the ground. His eyes though pale darkened and his lips curled in disgust at the sight. He had then turned to her. "Are you well, my lady?" 

She had just numbly nodded, still reeling from the minstrel's wandering fingers and threats. 

"Do you require further satisfaction?" He asked while the tip of his sword nicked the minstrel's throat, drawing blood. 

She shook her head, "He's learned his lesson."

"Very well," He lowered his blade, but not before hitting the minstrel in the gut with the pommel of his sword. "A more lasting lesson in case your eyes or your hands are tempted to wander," he whispered, "And next time they do, I'll show you why my family is proud of our banners."

Marillion paled, and was dragged away by an amused Ser Mychel, who was laughing as he went. 

"Why?" She found herself asking. Thankful for the return of the old blind dog who was now licking her fingers from where he was curled up at her side. Her first protector before the singer had gotten rid of him.

"Why, what, my lady?" He frowned.

"Help me." She sounded foolish, but mayhaps she was still in shock.

"I am a knight," he answered. "I take those vows seriously." 

"I'm a bastard," she whispered. 

"You were a maiden, innocent," He corrected, "No woman should be raped." 

"Thank you," her words were shaking just as her body. 

"You are welcome, my lady," He looked at her with concern, but respectfully restrained from further approach or touch. "You will be safe, my lady. I will insure it."  

His words actually brought her comfort much to her dismay. 

"I admire your restraint," he told her. "I would've gelded him."

She was surprised by his brazen confession, "But he didn't rape me."

"He was going to," He said uncaring if the act wasn't done. "The intention was there," his face darkened, "So why not remove the incentive." 

She remembered closing her eyes to see her flayed man protector sitting vigil, honoring his word. And of the dreams that followed. 

* * *

From there it grew between them. There was little to do at the Drearfort, but Sansa did not seem to mind that or the company. The weeks that followed, she found Petyr's perspective on the heir to the Dreadfort had been right. He was talented with the harp and an excellent rider. They rode the surrounding lands often. Every day, she found herself trusting him more and more, and believing her future was not as dark or hopeless as she once feared

She was a bastard to his eyes, but that did not matter to him. She was suspicious of his nature for that at first until learning that his friend, Ser Mychel loved a bastard girl named Mya Stone and wished to marry her. _She's a good woman,_ he shrugged, when he explained why he did not care about spending his time with her, a perceived bastard.

 _I also wished to be friends with my brother for a time,_ he had paused. _A bastard, I would've befriended and he'd kill me for that kindness._

She had heard of his bastard brother, Ramsay Snow, who styled himself the new Lord of the Hornwood. Domeric admitted he would be his rival to the Dreadfort when he did return to the north. He had confessed he was worried about the opposition he would face in the north after refusing his father's summons in the form of his bastard brother who had earned supposed glory and power during the war. 

 _So why do you not return?_ Alayne had found herself asking before realizing that might have been too bold. She was a bastard speaking to a lord. 

He didn't say anything, but when his eyes met hers, she had her answer, and she felt something in her chest flutter for it, before he turned away to look out at the dreary and rocky shore of her father's unremarkable holdings. 

 _He loves a bastard,_ she remembered thinking after they returned to the Drearfort. _And I love a Bolton._

* * *

 _Now we are leaving._ She did not think she'd miss the Drearfort when she arrived all those weeks ago, but here she stood along its shore. The gulls crying overhead and the sound of the water lashing against the rocks, grey clouds, salty air, and mist, were all familiar too her now. 

She felt a small smidge of fondness for this bleak speck of land. _I actually will miss it._

She nearly laughed when she thought it, and wondered what Petyr would say if she told him. 

_How could I not?_

_This was where it began to retake my home. This was where I met my husband._ _I married Domeric here._

In a small, but perfect ceremony once she had revealed who she was, but she was certain he would've married her if she was Alayne Stone.

 _You have my heart,_ he admitted, after she had told him who she really was. _A_ _nd you have my sword._

He knelt and became the first northerner to swear fealty to Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell and the rightful Warden of the North. 

"My lady?"

She turned at the sound of his voice and couldn't help but smile.

Her husband was approaching her. He was dressed in his family's colors, his look determined, but it softened when their eyes met and he dipped his head. "We are ready to depart." 

The armies of the Vale were nearly ready to march as they gathered. Petyr said the lords were eager to help her in returning a Stark to Winterfell, but she thought it was war and blood they were truly eager for. Her husband too had been busy assembling allies at White Harbor many would be waiting for them including his aunt, grandfather, Houses Manderly, Glover and others that had not forgotten their vows to her family. 

She kissed his cheek and then took his hand when he offered it.She looked out one more time at the Drearfort where she once served as its lady when she was Alayne Stone. 

 _Now I go north,_ they began to move to the horses where several knights in glinting armor were waiting for them, more than a half dozen banners flapping in the wind.

 _Where I will be the Lady of Winterfell,_ she then looked to her husband,  _and Lady of the Dreadfort,_ she added with a small smile, amused, but thankful at the twists and turns her path had taken her since the Purple Wedding. 

"The north is waiting for you," Domeric informed her.

She did not know what lay ahead, but she had the Vale and much of the North behind her, but more importantly, she had Domeric beside her.

"Let's not keep them waiting." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm out of ideas for the moment about these two. If you have any ideas or prompts for oneshots featuring this pairing, suggest them in the comment section, and I'll consider writing it if the muse likes it, can also feature a side pairing you'd want to see included. 
> 
> Thanks for continuing to indulge me with this very rare pairing,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


End file.
